“Dada.” “Daddy.” “Dad.” There is something sacred about our first words. An infant is literally ‘one unable to speak’ (from the Latin infans). We transition from infancy into childhood when we first speak intelligible words. For many of us, this is the moment when we first call our parents “mom” or “dad.” And this is a sacred moment. It is sacred because it is set apart. My sister and I are the only ones who can truly call my mother “mom” and my father “dad,” and this carries a personal meaning. The first time we call our parents “mom” or “dad” is the first time that we name the unique relationship we have with them. A son already acknowledges with human words, in baby language, the person in front of him: “This is my father!”

It is also a sacred act every time we call God “Father.” It is the language we learn to speak as Christians who are born again in baptism, and it is a language that we draw from the relationship we have with our own parents. The Catechism of the Catholic Church describes our sacred speech:

By calling God “Father,” the language of faith indicates two main things: that God is the first origin of everything and transcendent authority; and that he is at the same time goodness and loving care for all his children… The language of faith thus draws on the human experience of parents, who are in a way the first representatives of God for man. (CCC 239)

If you were like me and were baptized as an infant, then you were not able to actively call God, or anyone, “Father.” You were still ‘unable to speak.’ You had to learn to call God “Father,” and the way that we learn to call God “Father”—our first “baby words” in the Christian life—is through our parents.

I grew up calling God “Father” from my parents, but I do not recall a sacred moment when I first called God “Father.” I learned to call God “Father” in the manner that my parents called God “Father”: just once a week on Sunday: “At the Savior’s command and formed by divine teaching, we dare to say…” Every moment on Sunday was sacred, but I never considered calling God “Father” as something sacred during the first twenty years of my life.

When my father left the family during my late teens, I fell right back into infancy: I was unable to call my father “dad” because “dad” was no longer present. And that translated to my relationship with God: I did not call God “Father” because it seemed that God left me, too.

But God never left me. In fact, God spoke to me. Several months after my parents separated, at the Christmas Midnight Mass, the priest ended his homily: “God loves you.” And in prayer, I heard God the Father speak to me: “I love you.” These were not only sacred words spoken to me; they were sanctifying words.

The Dominican author Fr. Bonaventure Perquin, OP, writes in Abba, Father: Deepening our Relationship with God the Father:

Let us imagine that a rich and mighty king is visiting a poverty-stricken and primitive village in his country, and there notices a little child playing in the gutter, poor, starved, and unkempt. The king decides to adopt that child and to take him back to his splendid palace. Not only his own people but the whole world would be agog. Many would admire him, others would criticize him according to their different points of view. A gutter-child to be put on an equal footing with the king’s own children, sharing their inheritance, their amenities, their family life! And what an entirely new situation it is for the urchin himself.

But the Father’s adoption of us involves infinitely more. He is God of immense majesty—“immensae majestatis”. His is not the majesty of an earthly king, only on a vastly grander scale: his is an altogether different kind of majesty, a majesty which cannot belong to any creature even if he were king of the whole world. His is the infinite, transcendent majesty of God. And yet it is he who says to us when he adopts us: “Henceforward you are my child. My Son is now your Brother, and all my other adopted children are your brethren. Be perfectly at home with us. You have now a new life, a new family, new surroundings. You have much to learn. But listen to my Son: he will tell you everything you need to know. Model yourself on him, for the more you become like him the more pleasing you will be to me, the more you will feel at home with us, and the more you will share our intimate life, wisdom, and love.” (pages 12-13)

As children of divorce, we have experienced a sense of abandonment from our parents. We have experienced a feeling of not being “at home” because the home that we grew up in became a house-divided or a house-emptied. But the language we learn by faith is the language that only God, Our Father, can teach us. They are the sacred words that Our Savior, Jesus Christ, taught us. And they are the sanctifying words that are written on our hearts by the Holy Spirit in baptism—that sacred and holy day when God spoke and said to us: “You my beloved son.” This is not merely human speech; this is divine speech. It is the sacred language of divine love.

Intercessory Prayer:

St. Joseph, patron of fathers and spouse of the Virgin Mary, please be a father to all children of divorce, and help us to love our earthly father, and our Heavenly Father, all the more.

About the author:

Fr. John Baptist Hoang, OP, is a Dominican priest of the Province of Saint Joseph and an adult child of divorce. Fr. John Baptist currently serves as the Chaplain and Director of The Catholic Center at New York University. He grew up in the Diocese of Arlington and attended the University of Virginia with a degree in Religious Studies and Sociology. He entered the Order of Preachers right after college and was ordained a priest on May 21, 2016. Following his ordination, he was assigned to New York City. Fr. John Baptist has been a speaker and a small group leader at Life-Giving Wounds events, and will lead the New York University chapter of the ministry.

Reflection Questions for Small Groups or Individuals

1. Describe your relationship with, or at least how you think about, God as Father.

2. If you were old enough to remember your parents divorce, would you describe one of the feelings you experienced as falling “right back into infancy?”

3. Reflect on the language, for a moment, of being the beloved son or daughter of the Father. What does that mean to you and for your healing journey?